Sandalwood and Fireflies
by sugarsweetie
Summary: She smells of sandalwood and death. Warning: Angst.
1. Prologue: Winter

Sandalwood and Fireflies - Prologue

I'm back, and fully armed with more experience, more determination, but less time. This angsty plot bunny just grabbed a hold of me and wouldn't let go, and I also noticed that there aren't many fanfictions that deal with the matter of disease and death from disease. This is only the prologue, and I am currently in the process of typing the first chapter, but the updates may be scattered and there might be many gaps. As you may have predicted, I have school and hectic schedules. Many of the feelings that Sango feels will come from me, as I moved from the town I literally grew up in a month ago. The feeling of being ripped apart and leaving everything you know is, in my point of view, similar to death. No, I am not suicidal. I'm just inspired ":

Beware of matters dealing with death, and disease. Lots of angst. If you don't like, please don't read.

Story OST - Bogoshipda 보고싶다 by Kim Bum Su 김범수.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any of the characters, but the plot belongs to me.

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_ "You smell like sandalwood." She whispered, breathing slightly onto his hair and she inhaled the addicting scent. He shuddered._

_ "That's the first time I've heard that, especially coming from you." He chuckled. "Do you like it?"_

_ Smiling sincerely, she gave him a reply, coupled with a kiss._

_ "I love it."_

_ - Memoirs of Sango_

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* * *

  
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_ The first time Sango brushes by death is at the age of 7._

_ There is snow falling outside in tiny whirlwinds, and the icy frost bites at her nose. She can hear the screaming coming from inside the house, the furious patter of feet rushing about, and the sound of her father grinding his teeth together. Sango's tongue peeks out to taste a snowflake, but it melts on contact and she cannot identify the taste. Puffing warm breaths out sulkily, she wonders what is taking our little brother so long to be born. Nervously, she casts glances at the anxious adults who are inside, pacing. Eventually, the screaming stops and Sango lets out a breath of relief, waiting patiently to see her mother._

_ Suddenly, a hand is gripping her arm in an iron hold, and she is being dragged inside. Sango does not fight back, but instead lets herself be led along. The hand slides down to grip her tiny fingers, and it feels sweaty and clammy. Upon arrival by her mother's side, the adults clear the way for her, and the abrupt attention being given makes her blush. Eyes wandering, they travel amongst the strangers that are wearing white before settling on her pale mother._

"_Mama!" Comes her long-oppressed cry. Gripping her mother's sheets tightly, her 7 year old heart can already tell something's wrong. There is no movement from the older woman, and the roses that used to bloom in her cheeks have now withered away._

"_Sango…" She hears her father speak to her for the first time that night. No, make it the entire day. "Your mother has passed away." There is a moment of silence as those words settle in the young girl's mind._

"_Passed… Away?" Those two words seem so familiar, yet foreboding. Sango remembers her mother using that term when her hamster stopped running around in the cage, stopped eating the food she tried to force-feed it, and those small eyes remained closed no matter how she prodded it, or poked it._

"_This is your brother. Kohaku." A bundle of cloth and something else is shoved into Sango's arms, squirming with a keening wail. Bewildered, the younger girl-turned-sister gazed at the mess of tiny limbs and body. "Take care of him for now." Before she is able to respond, to refuse vehemently and return to her mother's side, her small body is forced out as the circle of adults closed in again. Sango decides to go outside and wait until her mother comes to get her. She does not hear the whispers of "poor child", and "her mother left her with a burden much too heavy for a seven year old"._

_ A brother… She enveloped the smaller body with her thin arms and huddled with it for warmth as she sat down by the wall outside of the room. Examining the alien face slightly, she nearly jumped back in surprise when it started wailing again. Rocking the baby slightly, as if by instinct, Sango cooed and whispered to the infant before it fell silent again._

_ She had no idea she would be the one doing this for the rest of her brother's childhood._

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* * *

  
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"You're dying."

_ Drip. Drip. Drip._

"There's a tumor in your brain. It's too large to remove without interfering with your brain."

_ Drip. Drip. Drip._

"We'll try to treat it, but the rates of success aren't very high at all."

_ Drip. Drip._

The doctor's room smells slightly of fish and something rotten that she can't tell. The sink is dripping, and the old wallpaper looked like it could use some freshening up. In the corner of her eye, Sango is rather convinced that she has seen something small scurry across the floor, but she isn't sure. Her eyes have been deceiving her lately.

Dying? Those words failed to register in her brain. She can only hear the leaking sink and smell the stank air of the room. Running a nail across her jeans, she looks up at the doctor. His nose looks like it's literally taking over his face, and his squinty eyes are focused on her, like she's some kind of lab rat. Sango holds back the urge to laugh at his ridiculously large nose and how out of proportion it is to the rest of his face. In the back of her mind, she reminds herself to share this with Miroku later, just to hear his rich, deep, baritone laughter that rumbles through his chest when she lays her head on it.

Suddenly, the young woman jerks forward as if her chest was in pain. Just one word, Miroku, and she suddenly realizes the reality of her situation.

Dying. Never being able to see his smiling face, to smell his sandalwood scent, to laugh with him and tickle him into submission. Never being able to be entranced by those eyes that seemed like a blend of violet and blue; She could never decide. The impact of this hits her hard, like no other can. She is suddenly on the ground, crouching, trying to get rid of this_ pain_ in her chest and it just hurts _so so much_. Sango is aware of the doctor asking if she's okay, and his grimy hands trying to pat her on the back and offer some comfort. One tear leaks out unwillingly.

_ Miroku …_

After a series of more tests, some medication, and another appointment booked for the day after the next, Sango stumbles out of the hospital, numb and not remembering. Everything seems like a blur for her, but she can hear the doctor's voice resounding through her brain.

"_You're dying."_

Routinely, she takes out her cell phone and calls Miroku, who is on her speed dial. Monotonously, and without thinking, she ratters off an address which she would become extremely familiar with. Sango hangs up the phone without saying goodbye.

"_You're dying."_

_

* * *

  
_

I am Sango Taijiya. I am 23 years old and fresh out of university. I aspire to be an author, and I want to influence the way people think about the future. I have a brother who is 16 years old who is living with my aunt, and I live alone in a cozy little apartment in the suburbs of the city. I cannot cook or draw or sew, or anything feminine related. I can hit a baseball out of field, win basketball against a team of guys, and tackle for a football. I am not afraid to get dirty. I do not like to wear dresses, or anything fancy. I prefer to wear a sweater and jeans, or anything comfortable. I have a cat called Kirara. I love Miroku, who has also been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I found out that I have a brain tumor, and it's snowing outside.

_ I'm dying._

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_tbc._


	2. Chapter 1: Pretend

Sandalwood and Fireflies – Chapter 1: Pretend

Long chapters have never been my strong point. I apologize for the quality of the writing, but I needed to get somethings down. I usually prefer to write drabbles, but a challenge wouldn't hurt me. At least I actually managed to get another chapter uploaded in a matter of two days (two exhausting, busy days).

I'd appreciate if you left reviews. No silent readers, please. Enjoy the chapter (hopefully).

Story OST - Bogoshipda 보고싶다 - Kim bum su 김범수

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. I own the plot.

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"_Do you believe in love at first sight?"_

"_That's just silly and shallow, 'Roku."_

"_Ah, but how else did you fall in love with me?" A flirty wink._

_Sango gives an exasperated huff._

_- Memoirs of Sango_

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Sango has always been down to earth, blunt, and headstrong, as she is told so by her friends. Life hasn't been a walk down the isle; the road was filled with bumps and sharp turns, ditches and detours. She's persevered for so long, and this is just another obstacle she has to overcome.

_The last obstacle_, she thinks grimly. _But an obstacle just the same._

Throughout her life, Sango is one to know best that fairy tales don't exist. They are empty words woven as a fake illusion, and will never happen in real life, no matter how she wishes it would. She has watched far too many movies where the lead character is diagnosed, and remains silent about the disease, in order to protect her loved ones. Sango makes a firm decision in her head that she would tell Miroku right away. Protect your loved ones? She scoffs. That protection is useless, and would only hurt more in the end. Miroku deserved to know the truth; they had promised to be completely honest with each other since the last incident.

Sango is completely realistic, and she only focuses on what she has _now._ Why should this disease change her?

She is still Sango inside. She has survived for so long, and will continue to do so.

_No matter what it takes._

Glancing at her watch briefly with a small frown, Sango makes an unshakeable observation that Miroku is late. As usual. That only confirms further that although she is changing, the world isn't. She kicks the curb lightly and shuffles her feet in boredom. Inside, she feels no anticipation or nervousness at the prospect of telling Miroku. As she found out in the hospital, sometimes it is easier just to be _numb_. A crow caws in the distance, and the crack in the sidewalk seems to be swallowing her up.

A silver car slows to a stop in front of her, and a window rolls down. As always, being the gentleman he is, Miroku opens the door for her from the inside. Shoving her belongings in first, Sango slides in with an exhale and closes the door, relishing in the smell of Miroku's car.

_Sandalwood._

"How did it go?" His baritone voice seems even more _Miroku_ than usual. It has always been the only word to describe his voice; warm, rich, with an underlying tone of seduction, just barely there. The question catches her off guard, and for the first time since the diagnosis, Sango cannot find her voice, or even bring herself to look in his captivating eyes.

She remembers the promise she made to herself, and how not telling him now would hurt him later. The words are on the tip of her tongue, yet no unearthly force could bring them out. Mouth opened, no words come out. Sango lifts her eyes, just subtlety, enough to catch his face in the corner of her view. All of a sudden, she knows she just _can't_, and no matter how unfair it would be to Miroku, _she just can't._

_ It hurts too much._

"Hey, you alright?" A larger, warm hand envelops her smaller one, cold from waiting outside in the blistering cold.

Sango can't, not with so much _love_ and _concern_ on his face and in his indigo eyes. Snapping her mouth shut before Miroku could suspect anything, she swiftly smiles and nods, squeezing his hand. Before he can open his mouth, Sango gestures for him to drive. She doesn't think she can keep the tears at bay if he continues.

The ride back home is silent, and she just stares outside through the car window, _cursing_ the snow.

* * *

At first, it is easy to forget. The first few days are busy, with business to attend to, Miroku to talk to, and everything in between. It almost feels normal, just like any other bustling day full of activity. Sango barely has time to take a break, much less think or let her mind wander. She is grateful for this.

The comfort of routine doesn't last long.

She should've known. Miroku leaves for a business trip, although she _begs him _to bring her along, Sango knows it's futile. She doesn't want him to leave; in a way, she is using him as a tool of distraction. The empty slots of time seem to scream at her, the silence swallowing her whole.

She goes out of her way to avoid being alone, or going home. At day, she buries herself in work. Her managers seem almost pleasantly surprised at her efforts; Sango has always been determined and a hardworker, but never to this extent. At night, however, she is rendered _defenseless. _When she's in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling and feeling her head for some sort of physical _sign_ of this tumor, _that_ is when it gets scary. That is when Sango begins to believe that she is going to die.

It's dark in her room, so dark that the young woman can't tell if her eyes are open or shut.

_This must be what death feels like._

She tries to banish these thoughts from her head, but it's useless; they plague her every night, almost like a twisted _companion_.

"I don't want to die." She whispers into the darkness, hoping that there is some _God_, _or anyone_ that can hear her.

* * *

"Sango, I can't make it today. I have to stay after for work. I'll see another time okay? Love you. Bye." He hangs up. Sango clutches the phone, and stares at it, the persistent busy signal filling the room. She leans against the wall, sliding down in frustration. She hurts, god damn it, too much.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

In a fit of anger, she rips the phone from the socket on the wall, and flings it across the room.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The constant sickly B-flat note of the phone only reminds her more of the neglect she feels, and the _loneliness_. Hugging herself, the young woman attempts to quell the uneasy feeling inside her and wills the sound of the phone to go away. Why is he drifting away when she needs him the most? Doesn't he understand? Something snaps within her, and Sango can feel the pain give into _rage_.

Pain only fuels her anger. Sango can feel the fire now, within her veins; it has been too familiar a sensation for it to be a stranger to her mind. How many times has she been angry with Miroku, in this exact spot? With his infidelity? With his unfaithfulness?

_Bastard …_

Sango stumbles into he bedroom, knocking over a precious piece of pottery in a complete lack of balance. Glaring numbly at her desk, she over turns the table where she has worked for as long as she could remember, Miroku behind her and breathing onto her neck. Her hand is shaking now; What has she done?

Throwing herself on the bed, the young woman buried her face in her pillow in an attempt to calm herself down.

_Damn it._

Every thing smells like him; the sheets, her pillows, and in the back of her mind she can almost see the scattered clothing on the floor, abandoned in a fit of passion. The memories can't be repressed. They keep floating back up, leaving Sango breathless as if they are happening at this instance. She drags her nails up and down the sheets.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The flood of emotions is over. Like the calm after a storm, all that is left is a broken whisper.

"I can't wait. Time is fleeting. And it's slipping away."

Sango feels a tear run down her cheek and she slumps against the wall, defeated.

_Why did this disease choose me?_

_-_

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_tbc._


	3. Chapter 2: Hourglass

Sandalwood and Fireflies – Chapter 2 : Hour glass

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Bah, I'm back ... Sorry for not uploading sooner, non-existent readers! I started the beginning of this chapter WAY back, but didn't get around to finishing it until tonight. Anyways, enjoy ~

Story OST - Bogoshipda 보고싶다 - Kim Bum Su 김범수

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. I own the plot.

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"_Ne, Sango, where do we go after we die?" Sango blinks._

"_Somewhere … wonderful, somewhere where there's no pain, and somewhere we can be with everyone we love." _

_Kohaku seems to ponder this for a second, his features creasing in a slight contemplative frown._

He's grown so much …

"_Is that where mom and dad are?" Sango's throat suddenly feels too dry._

"_Y-yes." Comes her hesitant reply, after a momentary pause from the shock._

"_Then I wanna go there too!" The young woman swallows thickly._

"_You will one day … and so will I. Let's just hope that doesn't happen for a while."_

_ - Memoirs of Sango_

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Miroku shows up for their weekly sleepover, grinning cheekily. In his hands are flowers, carnations. They only remind of the guilt that is gnawing their way out from her insides, from her heart. Sango knows desperately that she can't keep her illness a lie, but she just _can't_ bring herself to say those wretched words. Instead, Sango just smiles winningly up at the young man, a calm façade over the raging storm inside. Ushering him in to the cozy comfort of her house and away from the sharp cold of the outside, she is overcome by the familiarity of it all, and the thought of never having this comfort again scares her.

"Sango? You with me?" The young woman is startled out of her trance-like state at the call of her name. She blushes meekly, and takes the flowers from his hands, mulling over where to put them in her head.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something." Not a complete lie.

_Not the truth either._

"What movie do you wanna watch today?" Miroku is by the TV, sifting through her boundless collection of videos. "I'm feeling horror." Shaking her head, Sango disagrees vehemently.

"Oh c'mon Roku, you know I can't watch those without staying awake the whole night." A snicker. "How about this one instead?" Sango picks up an unfamiliar video case. The title seems depressing enough, and she really wants an excuse to snuggle up. Miroku pouts, a little miffed at the prospect of watching another chick flick with her. She smiles apologetically and puts on the most pitying look she can. Giving a little cheer when her boyfriend finally complied, albeit reluctantly, Sango rushes to the microwave to heat up the popcorn.

Some time later, the movie is on and running. The romantic tragedy plays out, predictably, and soon the heroine is dying as well.

_How ironic_. Sango ponders, and before she knows it, tears are running down her cheeks in small rivulets. Perhaps it's the fact that she knows what the main character was feeling, no matter that it was a movie or not. The hand clutching Miroku's shirt tighten's.

"If I die, will you cry for me?" Sango is surprised by her own voice, small and unsure, barely audible against the audio of the movie. She hadn't been aware that she was thinking out loud. Miroku smiles, that smile she fell for, and scratches at his head, probably questioning why she asked what she did. Sango finds herself staring through those eyes that always revealed more than what he wanted, and sees the conflict and hesitation behind them.

"No, I wouldn't." The young woman's throat hitches. "I wouldn't, 'cause I would know that you were going to a better place. Hell, anywhere's better than this materialistic world we learn in." He laughs easily, but quiets down quickly, sobering up. "We would find each other in the end, Sango, no matter where we were, because people who are destined for each other always return to one another." His voice sounds serious, those dark eyes prying into her soul. "Why are you asking this anyways?"

"'Cause I wouldn't cry for you either!" Sango jokes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she settles with the playful scowl on her boyfriend's face, deciding that this was a better option than either.

"Aw damn it, we just missed a huge chunk of the movie 'cause of our 'intense talk'!" Miroku pouts, and pounces, tickling her. She laughs at the ridiculous expression he is wearing, and squeals, attempting to ward off his hands. In that moment, laughing and rolling around on the couch, his eyes twinkling with happiness and her shaking in mirth, Sango knows that she'll miss this. She knows that she'll miss _him._

Her sudden change of emotion must have been conspicuous, because Miroku paused in his ministrations as well. Sango silently berates herself for ruining the moment with _those_ thoughts again. Sighing, she snuggles up to him once more, continuing to watch the movie in the comfort of Miroku's embrace.

The movie keeps playing, and she is lying against his chest, scarcely breathing. The smell of sandalwood engulfs her in familiarity. She can hear the strong and steady beating of his heart, and _it scares her so much _that his _entire_ life relies on the tangle of tissue that seems vulnerable enough to collapse any second.

_Baduump._

_Baduump._

For some reason, she _just can't sleep_, although it's tradition for her to fall asleep during the movie, and have him tease her the day after. She can't sleep, even with the reassuring beating of his heart. In her head she keeps hearing the abrupt _stop_ and the panic overcomes her every time. Sango knows well enough that her own heart is already starting it's descent to the unknown, and the reality of it only scares her even more. She can practically feel the sudden shortness of breath, the pain, the dizziness, the _blood_, and the _utter loss _as her body surrenders itself to death.

_I don't want to die._

_I want to stay with you. Grow old with you. _

_I want to continue loving you._

_Baduump._

_Baduump._

The sound of his heartbeat haunts her, both day and night, so much that she thinks she can't take it anymore. Death is creeping up behind her, dark tendrils curling around her heart and mind. Although the doctor confirms that, yes, she will continue to live for _a few months if she's lucky_, her soul has died already.

Sango avoids him, because it hurts too much to see that easy grin and laughing eyes, and to know that he will continue to smile and laugh, even after she dies. Inside, the young woman knows that if she _trul__y_ loved him, she would want him to remain happy.

_Bullshit._

It's too hard for anyone to accomplish, no matter how pure they were of heart. To be selfish is human nature, and Sango accepts that, just because she is _only human._ In the dead of the night, she admits to herself that maybe, she _wants_ him to hurt a little bit. More than that. A lot. It's a selfish wish, but then again, she's _only human. _Her illness is proof enough.

The young woman cuts herself from the outside world that is still _moving on_ despite her circumstances. She wants to _scream_ for them to stop, to _remember me_ and to _see the pain I'm in_ but it's futile, and she knows it. Aimlessly, Sango drifts away from the path of life, into her secluded alcove of depression and self-pity. It's pathetic, and she is aware.

She doesn't shed a tear. She doesn't smile. She just sits by the window, watching the snow gather on the windowsill and melt against the windows. With every intricate snowflake that melts away, Sango is reminded of how brief life is. She traces the path of the melting frost through the window, and through the reflection, she is tracing a path down her cheek as well.

Outside, the snow keeps falling, whirling and billowing around. Harsh winds blow, and she can hear the _whoosh_ and feel the trembling of her tiny apartment. The weather cries for the young woman who is unable to do so herself. Hollow eyes stare outside, searching for an _answer_ that she can't seem to find.

_Why?_

_

* * *

  
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The doctor's office seems cleaner somehow. The pungent smell of fish has gone away, and the walls don't seem as worn-looking and dirty.

_Or are her senses are fading away?_

Sango goes through a various variety of treatments, or a form of mild torture, as her term of endearment. She hates the ways the doctor look at her with pity yet speak with such _hope_. The young woman is no longer a child, and she wants to know the _truth_, thank you very much. Empty words are of no use; her world is already empty enough. Sango hates being misguided and have her hopes soar up, only to crash down.

"Doctor, tell me the truth. Am I responding to treatment?" The doctor looks comprehensive. "I can handle the truth." The last part comes out hesitantly in a small voice, and Sango wonders briefly whether she's reassuring the doctor or herself.

"We don't know yet, but your tumor does seem to be showing signs of improving. However, at this early stage, we still cannot tell if the growth will be permanently stunted or if the good news now is temporary. We'll have to run more tests and see if there's any other option …" She nods dumbly, hearing yet not listening. Sango tries to quell the sudden lift in her hopes as she hears of her temporary improvement, and because _all the bad things happen to her and it's not fair because what did she do all she wanted was happiness and a normal healthy life why did this happen to her_?

* * *

The truth comes out a couple days later, when the doctors further examine her scans and tests.

"_You have at most 3 months to live."_ The voice on the phone is cold, unfeeling, yet at the same time, announcing her death sentence. Sango teases in her mind at the thought of how many times this person has killed another's soul with just a few words.

_Oh god, three months. If I'm lucky._

The young woman's heart plummets deeper into the abyss. Tears stand unshed in her bright, bright eyes that are filled with disbelief, staring blankly at the wall, as if searching for some kind of _refuge._ The peeling wallpaper stares back at her unsympathetically, mockingly. Sango had been thinking of renovating the horribly worn-out furniture of her apartment, but now she has only _three months._ Three months, to prepare herself for the journey ahead, the journey she must endure alone. Three months, to bid a farewell to everything she's _ever known_ and _ever loved_.

_Miroku …_

Tears burn at her eyes, but don't fall. She can't break, although she thought she had longer, because three months is _so so short_.

_Three months, until I die._

A shaky breath.

_This is the end._

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_tbc._


End file.
